


everything that colours you

by valety



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Codependency, Mental Health Issues, Other, POV Second Person, Spoilers, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 06:05:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6841906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valety/pseuds/valety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asriel has always loved Chara, but his intentions have not always been as noble as he’d like to think. It takes him a while to realize that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	everything that colours you

**Author's Note:**

> ( _if I could have a wish granted_  
>  _I’d want everything that colours you_  
>  _your smile to be mine and only mine_  
>  _it even gets me thinking that you’re my everything_  
>  _that’s how much I love you_ )
> 
> all of your faves have dependent personalities, ALL OF THEM
> 
> warnings for codependency and unhealthy relationships as well as brief references to suicide/suicidal ideation/severe illness. apologies for anything I might not have thought to warn about, but basically, these kids are fucked up and their relationship is Not The Best

A memory: shortly after you first meet them, not long enough at all.

The two of you are in Snowdin, having accompanied your parents on royal business. While they work, you and Chara have free reign over the snowfields.You run wild, laughing and shouting and chasing one another until suddenly Chara decides that the two of you should build a snowman.

It doesn't go very well. Chara insists upon trying to build something a hundred feet tall, but even though you try your best, the most you can manage is a snowball that comes up to about your waist. Chara scoffs when they see it, mumbling something about your lack of motivation, but their own ball is even smaller, and when they try to lift it, it crumbles.

"It's not your fault," you say when you see how angrily they kick the remains of your failed snowman. "The snow's not wet enough, that's all."

"Not _wet_ enough?" they snarl, eyes flashing. "We're beside a freaking _river,_ how much wetter can it _be?_ Are we supposed to dump all the snow in the _water_ or some shit?”

"Um. I don't know," you say.

Chara turns away from you, kicking the snow pile once more and sending pieces flying in a cloud of white. _“_ Stupid _,”_ they hiss. You can’t see their face, but you can imagine their expression perfectly: cheeks red, teeth clenched, mouth contorted in a desperate grin. “Stupid. _Stupid._ Of course I...god, who even _gives_ a shit _anyway?”_

Their breathing has gone all funny, the way it does sometimes when they get really, really upset and need to take a moment to collect themselves with a paper bag or even a cupped hand. You can see how tightly they’ve clenched their fists, how they shake as though barely suppressing the urge to strike, and it should probably scare you, being all alone with such an unstable human—you’ve heard stories, after all, about what humans can accomplish when they set their minds to being cruel.

But it doesn’t, for some reason. You don’t feel particularly sympathetic, either. Instead, you just feel a kind of bizarre fascination.

There doesn’t seem to be a _reason_ for their fits of temper, is the thing. You’d understand it if they got angry or began to cry whenever they were denied something; if it happened when your parents told them _no,_ for example, because you’ve done that yourself often enough. But around your parents, they’re all smiles, and if Chara can remain calm when asked to stop wandering alone at night, how can a simple snowman make them this upset? How does it _work?_ Why do they get angry? Why do they get sad? Why are they so different whenever they’re alone with you? How do you affect them? How can you make them smile?

It’s still early in your relationship, too early for you to yet be familiar with the myriad of ways you eventually develop for calming Chara down—things like offering them hugs, letting them stroke your fur, bringing them hot tea. For now, all you can do is fumble, and when their shoulders start to tremble, you fumble for their wrist.

Chara seizes up the moment you make contact. Their head whips around so that they can glare at you, and they open their mouth to speak, but before they can say a word, you lean forward and press a clumsy kiss against their cheek.

The anger immediately drains out of their face, leaving their expression hollow.

"What the hell was _that?"_ Chara demands.

"Don't be mad," you implore in your very best wheedling tone. "Snowmen are boring anyway. Let’s find something more fun to do."

Chara’s mouth falls open, then snaps shut again. Their gaze drop to their boots.

Finally they say, "Okay, but it had better be something really, really good."

You half expect them to tug their hand out of yours. Much to your pleasure, they don't. Instead, they lace their fingers with yours, squeezing gently and mumbling something about not having gloves and your hands being warm.

They may not be smiling, but they’ve definitely calmed down. Because of _you._ You made them happy.

You like that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Another memory: more time has passed. _Like siblings,_ the monsters call you now, but you don’t think you’re very much like siblings at all.

(At least, you hope not.)

The two of you are having a slumber party. You'd always wanted to have a slumber party—that’s what kids your age _do,_ right? the ones with friends, at least—so of course you invited Chara the moment it occurred to you to have one. Sure, they may already live with you, but that doesn’t mean you can’t stay awake all night telling scary stories and having pillow fights and doing whatever else you’re meant to do.

In preparation, you and Chara build a tent out of your blankets, stealing pillows from all throughout the castle to fill it with. Chara seems almost excited as you rearrange your room together, and it makes you feel all fizzy inside.

You like seeing them happy. You like knowing that you had something to do with it.

"This is _so cool,"_ Chara breathes upon slipping into your makeshift tent. Their face is lit up both by the flashlight they’d placed in the middle and by their enormous smile. It’s a smile that makes your chest feel kind of funny, although you can’t say for sure whether it’s a good or bad kind of funny. "I've never been to a sleepover before."

"Me neither!" you shout, louder than you mean to, and Chara giggles. It's a happy, bubbly sound, and it occurs to you that maybe _I've never been to a sleepover before_ means that Chara is even more like you than you first thought.

"Um," you say, suddenly feeling shy. "What do you want to do next?"

Their eyes widen slightly as though startled by the question. You try to look encouraging.

If Chara's never been to a sleepover before, then maybe they've dreamed about them too. Maybe you can make one of their dreams come true. You're used to trying to appease them whenever they’re upset, but you like the thought of being able to make them happy even when they're not in one of their moods.

(You’ve never had someone that you could help before. It’s a good feeling, having someone to care for, as opposed to just being the prince that everybody caters to.)

(Not that you’re _complaining,_ but...it gets kinda boring sometimes, being spoiled and deferred to. This, at least, is new.)

"Truth or dare," Chara says at last.

You blink.

"I...don't know what that is," you say, hesitant.

"It's a game," Chara explains. They reach out and take the flashlight from the floor, lifting it to their chin. It illuminates their face and makes them look as though they’re preparing to tell a particularly dusty horror story. "We take turns asking the other person to pick truth or dare. Truth means they have to answer any question honestly. Dare means they have to do anything you tell them to. Whoever refuses first loses and gets punished.”

"Oh," you say, frowning. “Okay.”

You’re not sure how you feel about this. There are some things you'd really, _really_ rather not have to confess, especially to Chara, but _you_ had been the one to ask if there was anything they wanted to do. You can’t change your mind _now._

"You go first," Chara commands, flashlight still directed at their face and casting ghastly-looking shadows on the blanket wall behind them. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare," you say, because Chara's sharp. You wouldn’t put it past them to intentionally ask the most uncomfortable questions they can think of just to see you squirm.

Chara doesn't answer right away. Their eyes are fixed on you, enormous and unblinking. Their lips are slightly pursed, as though trying to hold something back, and finally they say, "I dare you to kiss me."

Static. And then—

 _What?"_ you cry.

Chara leans forward and swats you on the knee. "Don't _yell,"_ they hiss. "Do you _want_ your parents to come check on us?”

You swallow, and Chara’s grip on the flashlight trembles. The shadows flicker.

“You have to do it,” they say. “Unless you want to lose the game on the very first turn.”

You don’t want that.

Slowly, you lean forward.

Your heart is pounding.

Then, at the last possible second, they turn their head, and your mouth brushes their ear instead.

Your heart stops.

 _“Dork!”_ Chara cries, mouth splitting into a manic grin. "I can't believe you were actually going to do something so _gross!”_

"You _told_ me to!" you protest.

Chara laughs. "My turn," they say breezily, flicking the flashlight on and off. "I pick...dare."

You want to ask them why they dared you to do something like that. You want to ask them why they turned away. You want to ask them if they'd let you try again. But their smile is cold now, and you know they wouldn't answer even if you begged them to, so instead, you dare them to sneak into the kitchen and get you another slice of pie, because you’re kind of hungry, you guess.

They vanish, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You feel...strange.

You don't like it, that they turned away. You don't like that they dared you to kiss them and changed their mind.

It makes you feel kind of sick.

You know how capricious Chara can be. They're pushy and temperamental, demanding that you stay with them forever in one breath and calling you an idiot unworthy of their time in the next. But now you find yourself wondering, what if it escalates one day? They say they like you _now_ , but what if they change their mind? What if they grow bored of you, what if they decide to leave, what if they come to hate you?

You think, _no._ It's a quiet, firm little thought. Neither a declaration of war nor a cry of despair; simply a thought. _No, I don't want that to happen._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Yet another memory: closer to the present than the past. So close that you can almost take it. So close that you can seize it and crumble it to dust, fragments cutting into your palms like so many shards of glass.

You hear them long before you see them. A muffled wail; the sound of someone sobbing into the crook of their arm. The sound of someone trying to hide their tears. It’s a sound familiar to you.

You know that you should carry on, pretend that you can’t hear. It’s what you yourself most often want from others when you can’t stop yourself from crying. But this is different. This is _Chara._ You _can’t_ leave them alone. You were the one who found them in that bed of flowers, after all. You’re the one who kisses their scars, who wipes their tears, who offers them your bed when they can’t sleep. You’re the one who saves them, and if they’re crying, then you have to help them.

You find them in the linen closet, curled up on the floor with their knees drawn up tightly to their chest. They look as though they’re trying to disappear, but you won’t let them.

You immediately go to them, wrapping your arms around them. Their arms immediately unwind and wrap around you in return. Their face is damp as they press it against your chest. Their tears stain your sweater a dark, dark green.

“Chara,” you say, voice soft. “What’s wrong?”

You stroke their hair. Slowly, slowly.

(Your touch soothes them, you think with something like satisfaction. They trust you to comfort them.)

“I shouldn’t _be_ here,” Chara sobs. Their fingers tighten, digging into your back like claws. “I was supposed to disappear...why am I _here?_ Why am I _alive?”_

You wince. It hurts, to hear Chara say such things. It happens far more often than you’d like, but you’ve yet to figure out just what to say to them. The best you can do for now is let them cry, let them lean on you, let them...

But then you say, “So that we could meet.”

The sound of your own voice catches you off-guard. You hadn’t meant to say anything at all, but it’s too late; the words come rushing from your mouth before you can stop yourself.

A hiccup. “What?”

“I was so _lonely,_ Chara,” you explain. Your arms tighten around them. “You must have been too, right? That’s why you climbed the mountain, isn’t it?”

Chara doesn’t answer. Their nails dig into you even further, but it’s okay. You’d let them tear you apart if they needed to.

“But then you came, and now I have you and you have me,” you continue. “Now we have each _other._ That’s why you lived—so that we could help each other. Isn’t that enough?”

You draw back so that you can place a kiss upon their forehead. You hear Chara sharply sucking in their breath, and you half expect them to laugh or scoff, but they don’t. Instead, they bury their face against your neck.

“Thank you,” Chara whispers, and privately you think, _for me. You survived for me._

 

 

* * *

 

 

That is how time passes. That is how the daysweeksmonthsyears go by.

Chara is yours to protect, and you are theirs to depend on, the two of you sharing the silent understanding that you belong to one another in a nameless sort of union; a relationship defined by unspoken promises. Each of you is incomplete, but together, you make a whole, filling in the gaps of your twin lonely souls.

(You will never be lonely again.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

The final memory: the final moments.

Chara lies broken and bleeding in their bed. You kneel over them, clutching their blistered, bandaged hand in yours. Their breathing is ragged, chest rattling with every inhale, but everything will be okay. Soon, Chara will be with you forever. You will shield them always, and in return, they will complete you.

You don't know how conscious they are when you lean forward, but you press your mouth against their forehead anyway.

You let it linger.

Everything will be okay.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Chara," you say.

Vines curl around the phone.

"Are you there?"

They don't answer. You’re not expecting them to. They've been so _quiet_ ever since their return.

(Because they're like you, you think. They must be. They're empty inside too.)

"It's been a long time, hasn't it...?"

Too long. Far, far too long. Longer than they can possibly know. But it doesn't matter; every second will have been worth it if it was leading up to this.

"But you've done well. Thanks to you, everything has fallen into place."

They've done everything you could've hoped for, everything you could've asked, and it bodes beautifully for how things will carry on from here. Just so long as they keep doing as you say, just so long as they return to you, you’ll gladly be their slave in return. This is why you've only ever needed one another. You’re everything either one of you could need.

"Chara..."

Their name, whispered into the phone, almost like a prayer.

There was something taken from you, but soon you’ll have it back. There’s something missing in you, but soon you will be whole.

"See you soon."

Chara's silent presence on the other end of the line is the closest that you've been to them in far too long, and although you should be above such petty sentimentality, you can't resist this final temptation.

You press a kiss to the receiver before hanging up. You wonder if they can feel it.

It doesn’t matter. You will kiss them again soon.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s the end.

You are every ending and beginning. You are fire and storms and light. You are the moment of creation and destruction in a single devastating _whole,_ but you are also a wound rubbed raw. You are every memory that you thought you could ever leave behind. You are loneliness itself. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Soon, it will all be over.

They stand before you in a rain of starlight, unflinching despite the magic tearing them apart, and you think, _this isn’t right_. They’re being hurt. They shouldn’t be hurting. You’re meant to protect them, to take care of them, and you’re _here,_ you’re _right here,_ you would keep them safe if they just _asked,_ if they just _let_ you, if they just _stopped,_ if they just _GAVE IN_ —

They smile at you, mocking and defiant (it must be, it must be), and how dare they, how _dare_ they, why won’t they just _LISTEN?!_ All they have to do is let you win, but no matter what you do, they won’t back down, they…

You’ll tear them limb from limb. You’ll beg them not to leave. You’ll make them pay for trying. You hate them and you love them and you hate them and you love them and you hatelovehatelovehatelovehatelove them and as you watch them fall apart, collapsing into funny-looking human dust over and over again, you imagine every star as a kiss you should’ve shared, a promise that you failed to keep.

Even now, everything you do is for their sake. Soon they’ll understand.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You can see the sun.

Chara touches your arm to draw your attention. It’s like they touch a switch connected directly to your heart. It flutters in your chest.

(How strange, to have a heart again.)

“Asriel,” they say, and that’s...happiness in their voice, you think. You’re not sure. What did happiness sound like again?

You remember laughter, but you have laughed with no joy. You remember smiles, but you have seen them smile with no light. How do people know what happiness looks like when it can be so easily faked?

“Asriel,” Chara says again.

You meet their eyes.

“We did it,” they say.

Their eyes carry shadows like bruises. They’re even thinner than you remember. Their smile is very, very soft. It hurts to see them and you can’t bring yourself to look away.

They lean up. Lean in. Almost close the gap.

“Don’t,” you say.

Chara stops. Pulls back.

You are trembling.

You can still feel it; the ache. A pulse of loneliness, of want, of _need._ Itstill threatens to overtake you, even though you now carry the grounding weight of a soul again. Your body still remembers how it felt to be that disgusting, hollow thing you were before. A phantom limb. A phantom emptiness.

Something is still missing.

Chara stands before you, there and within reach. Not too long ago, you’d almost destroyed them just to keep them with you, but even now, after everything that’s happened, you want nothing more than to enclose them in your arms and never let them go.

There must be something wrong with you.

You had thought the emptiness you’d felt had been the result of your death, but maybe you’ve _always_ been this way. Maybe you’ve _always_ been a little empty. Maybe your soul has _always_ been a little splintered, missing all the bits and pieces that would make you normal.

Maybe you lost some vital part of you a long, long time ago. Maybe it’s never coming back.

Has anything you’ve ever felt for them been real? Have you always just been using Chara as a substitute for a heart? You’d thought that they were like you, but had that just been your desperation talking? Had you even had _yourself_ fooled?

That emptiness, that longing. It’s clawing at you from the inside out, and you haven’t changed at all.

Maybe you were always damaged. Maybe you always will be.

“Asriel?” Chara says, drawing you back into the present. You’re still there, still standing on the cliff overlooking the city, still standing in the light of the setting sun. It’s so beautiful, so beautiful and brilliant, and you can barely see it.

They look hurt. It’s rare for them to be this expressive, some distant part of you observes. You wonder how that happened. Is their new form just not used to masking their emotions yet, or…?

“I’m sorry,” you say when you can speak without wanting to throw up. Your legs feel weak. “I’m not feeling well. Let’s go and find everybody.”

Chara nods. They still look puzzled, but they slip their hand in yours, and then they’re tugging you along. You, the stupid, empty, lost little child, the weak one all along.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You told me that I lived so we could meet,” Chara says. “You can’t just _say_ that to a person. You can’t tell me that we should live to help each other only to cut me out of your life like a total fuckwad later on.”

“That’s not it,” you say. You stare down at your hands. They’re folded neatly in your lap, but it’s been so long since you’ve had hands. You don’t know what to do with them. They feel too big, too alien. You used to know how to use them whenever Chara got like this. You used to know how to touch and soothe them. You feel so clumsy now. “I shouldn’t have said that. That was a mistake.”

A strangled sound erupts from Chara’s throat, and every instinct you possess screams for you to go to them, to scoop them up into your arms, to carry them away. You want to shelter them, to need them and be needed, but you can’t let that happen. You can’t let yourself fall apart again. You’d only drag them down with you.

You'd been sitting at your desk, working on some assignment when suddenly Chara had come barging in, saying, “You’ve been avoiding me.”

You’d wanted to lie, to twist the truth and keep them smiling and happy, but lies just lead to you getting confused over what’s real and what isn’t, what’s happened in this timeline and what hasn’t. It’s best to say things plainly, you’ve discovered.

Thus, you’d simply answered, “Yes, I have been.”

And now, here you are.

“You absolute piece of _shit,”_ Chara says. Their voice is thick and watery despite the heaviness of their words. Their arms curl around themselves. You see their fingers dig into their arms. “I can’t _believe_ you. I can’t believe you’d just...not even a _conversation,_ you just decide you’re _done_ with me—”

 _“No!”_ you interrupt, because...because you can’t let them think _that,_ that’s not it, and you desperately, desperately want to go to them, want to let them lean on you (want to pull them into you), but you can’t. Not now, not when you’re this messy, not when you’ll only drown them. “Chara, _no_ , that’s not why, I just...you need someone _better_ than me. I’m no good.”

A short, sharp bark of laughter, and Chara presses their hand against their face, covering their eyes. Tears roll down their cheeks.

“How the _shit_ am I supposed to do any better?” they demand. “You were all I _had,_ you _fuck.”_

Strange, gasping, choking sobs begin to rack their body, and you have never wanted to hold them more, but then you remember vines tearing them apart and stars cutting them to ribbons and a child thinking _mine_ when he had no right and you remain seated, watching helplessly as they collapse.

You say, “I’m sorry.”

It’s all you can think to do.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Chara doesn’t speak to you for three entire days.

When they finally do, they begin by cornering you in the hallway and declaring, “We need to have a conversation.”

They drag you into their bedroom, shove you onto their bed, immediately sit beside you, and glare at you so hard that you wouldn’t be surprised if they were trying to psychically destroy your mind.

When they speak, they don’t say what you’re expecting. You’re expecting them to demand an apology or maybe issue a command to never speak to them again, but instead, Chara asks, “Why do you think you’re no good anymore?”

“Are you serious,” you say, voice flat.

And Chara stares at you expectantly, expression equally flat.

“Maybe think back to everything that’s happened recently,” you say, a touch more snappish than is probably your right. “Maybe think back to me _going nuts and literally killing everyone we know.”_

(There’s an unspoken _idiot_ at the end of the sentence. You think of yellow petals.)

Chara snorts.

“Seriously?” they say. “You’re still _on_ about that?”

You’re so flabbergasted by their response that you can’t immediately answer.

When you can, you yelp, “It was _kind of a big deal, Chara!”_

“Yeah, okay, fine,” they concede, raising their hands in a gesture of mock-defeat. “But I don’t see what that has to do with _us._ So you’re kinda shitty. Whatever. I’m shitty too.”

They say it so simply that you decide you must have misheard them. There’s no possible way that Chara can be so _relaxed_ about everything you’ve done and everything you really are.

“I’m no good,” you repeat almost helplessly. “You deserve better than me. All I do is ruin everything.”

“And I _don’t?”_ they say, quirking an eyebrow.

“You don’t _understand!”_ you cry. It makes no sense, that they can’t understand just how selfish and damaging you really are—but then again, maybe it does. You’ve never wanted them to, after all. You’ve spent your entire life hiding it.

“Then _make_ me understand,” Chara says, like it’s a challenge.

You swallow.

“I...I can’t remember, sometimes, what things are actually supposed to feel like,” you say, trying to speak around the sharp ache in your throat. What _is_ that? It’s feels familiar somehow, but you can’t remember. You can’t _remember._ Anger or sadness or shame or…? “Everything got all mixed up inside, and...and even before, I wasn’t really the greatest person, was I? I don’t know if anything I ever felt for you was _real,_ and I have no way of _telling_ anymore, and...and I can’t be a good friend like _this._ Heck, I wasn’t a very good friend to begin with.”

Chara stares at you, wearing a funny little smile that isn’t very much of a smile at all.

After a moment, they ask, “What exactly do you feel about me?”

Again, you swallow. Your throat still aches. You feel strange and cold inside and you don’t understand why.

“I want you to be happy,” you say, because that, at least, has always been true.

Chara is silent.

Then, a little stiffly, they say, “I don’t really know much about these things, but isn’t that what love’s _supposed_ to be?”

 _Love,_ you think. The name they gave your feelings unprompted. Is that it, then? Do you love them after all?

You feel something bright and painful when you look at them, but maybe it’s just guilt. You’ve gotten feelings mixed up before, after all: love and loneliness and greed and hate. You can’t let that happen again, especially not now. Good intentions can’t redeem your mistakes forever.

“I’ll hurt you,” you say almost frantically, as though you’re trying to convince yourself as much as them. “I’ve ruined everything before. I’ll do it again. I’ll—”

“Asriel,” Chara interrupts. Their voice is cold, dismissive, like you’re being a complete and utter imbecile, and somehow, the familiarity of it is unspeakably comforting. “We both _died._ The absolute worst has already happened, and it was just as much my fault as it was yours. We’re both the biggest fuck-ups that the world has ever seen. Does it really fucking _matter_ anymore?”

“Of course it matters,” you begin, but Chara interrupts you by placing their fingers underneath your chin. They tip your jaw upright, forcing you to meet their eyes, and they’re blazing, alight with an expression of intense concentration. You think of a fire-red soul.

They smile.

“If you go nuts again, I’ll kill you,” Chara says. “So don’t worry about it, okay? In the meantime, let’s just like each other.”

And that...doesn’t seem quite right, you think. You feel like you should tell them so, but then Chara leans in to press their mouth against yours and all words disappear.

Chara kisses you. Despite everything, you kiss them back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"It's spring," Chara declares from the doorway.

"It's spring," you agree, snapping the elastic on your wrist. You’d borrowed (stolen) it from Chara. There’s something soothing about the repetition of the movement, of the little shock of pain.

"There's only one thing to be done about it.”

"Done about it?" you repeat. _Done about it_ makes it sound as though spring is a problem that Chara wants solved immediately. Normally you’d be more than happy to play along, but the only ideas coming to mind all involve destroying the sun. You don't think many people would appreciate that.

 _"A feast,"_ they say, pointing at your perch on the sofa dramatically. "A feast shared between us in a sun-dappled glen, or possibly beside a burbling brook, so that we may reflect upon the artistry of nature."

"Oh. A picnic sounds nice," you say.

Chara grins. "It certainly _does_ sound nice," they say. "Because I thought of it and my ideas are _always_ brilliant."

"You have wonderful ideas," you agree, and their expression morphs into a scowl.

"Flattery is forbidden," Chara says, voice cold. "Anyway, I'm going to go make lunch. You look for a blanket and other...picnic-type stuff. Understand?"

"Uh-huh," you say, and Chara practically bounces out of the room, leaving you feeling…charmed, maybe, is the word.

It's strange, encountering feelings you can't immediately name. You’ve been doing a lot better lately. Anger is obvious to you by now, as is happiness and sadness, but to be _charmed_ or _disgusted_ or _ashame_ d is more complicated, often requiring a moment or two of serious contemplation.

But whatever it is that Chara makes you feel, it's pleasant. Something you want more of. You want to hook yourself around them and let the feeling bloom inside your chest as you rain kisses on their skin.

 _(Yeah, that’s probably love,_ Chara had blushingly replied when you’d asked them about it once. _It’s a pretty gay thing to say, anyway. Don’t tell anybody else._ )

Later, the afternoon is fresh and innocent. Chara's hand in yours is warm as you wander through the park in search of a place to lay your blanket. You wind up choosing the shade of a low-hanging tree, far from the playground, and Chara kneels, setting the basket down beside them. You kneel as well. The breeze is toying with their hair, lightly ruffling it, and you kind of want to reach out and smooth it down.

"Sandwiches," Chara announces, pulling each item from the basket as they name them. "Chips. Apples. Cheese and crackers. Lemonade. God, look at how enchantingly _quaint_ this shit is.”

There’s another feeling you don’t immediately recognize as you watch them work. Something warm, something pleasant, something that makes you want to kiss the top of their head, something almost-but-not-quite like the love that makes you want to kiss them always. If you had to guess, then you’d guess simple affection, and...it’s a good feeling, you decide. You’re feeling affectionate towards them and it’s good.

(You often think like this, in stern particulars, like someone lecturing a child. It helps you ignore the bitter thoughts that sometimes rustle just beneath the surface.)

As you’re eating, Chara asks, “This is nice, right?”

You consider. You’re not supposed to just agree in the hopes of giving answers that will please them; you’re supposed to really _think_ about these things and draw your own conclusions.

“Yeah,” you say at last. “It’s nice.”

It’s nice because it’s warm, and you’re full, and because Chara’s here. Those are all good reasons to be happy.

You ask, "Can I kiss you?"

Chara frowns, contemplating. After a moment, they shake their head and say, “No, but _I’ll_ kiss _you.”_

You obediently lean forward, letting them pull you towards them. Their mouth is firm and warm and sweet, and when they let go, you’re smiling.

“A _really_ nice day,” you say, and Chara snorts.

You haven’t had a day like this in a quite some time. By _day like this,_ you mean one just for the two of you, because you have rules now. Rules you don’t particularly like, such as _you must go somewhere without Chara at least once a day._ Still, you used to hate them a whole lot more, so you guess you’re probably making progress.

Privately, you think of your goal as being to somehow become whole again, not just a paper cutout or a dummy stuffed with straw that goes through all the motions of personhood.

 _You’re already complete,_ you’ve been told over and over and over again, _and Chara is too,_ but while that might be true for Chara, you know better when it comes to yourself. You can feel it, after all. You can feel the place in your chest where your heart should be.

Still, for the first time in a long, long while, you feel kind of...okay about that. There’s none of the desperate loneliness from your childhood. None of the resentment, none of the fear, and even if you never quite get the hang of being whole again, then at the very least you’re figuring out how to accept yourself, damaged as you are. You’re piecing yourself back together bit by bit, but you don’t need to chip bits away from Chara to do it with.

“I love you,” you say, and you don’t know if this is right. You don’t know if this is healthy. You don’t know anything, really. But whatever you’re feeling, Chara thinks it might be love, and they say, “I love you too,” and you guess that if the two of you want to call it love for now, then nobody can stop you.

There beneath the tree sits you and Chara and the twisted, gnarled love you share. But there’s also the whole wide world around you, and bit by bit, you’re beginning to untangle yourselves, and someday, you may grow.


End file.
